by Caro Fraser
‘Well, that’s a consideration,’ conceded Stephen. ‘But I still don’t think he’s that bad. Anyway, we can take a new tenant every year for the next three years, if it comes to it. That’ll keep you busy.’
Roderick sighed and sat down. ‘I don’t know how it’s come to this. In many ways, it doesn’t really matter. It’s largely a question of what David and William want. As the junior tenants, it’s whether or not they can get on with him that counts. It’s just …’ He looked down in despair at Edward’s work. ‘Rather depressing. Still,’ he added, after a pause, ‘I suppose if young Cross didn’t exist, I wouldn’t think twice about it.’
And that, Michael was forced to admit to himself, was perfectly true.
Ignorant of all this, Anthony toiled half-hopefully on. The following week, Leo Davies came to their room. He glanced briefly at Anthony, and then turned to Michael.
‘Mind if I borrow Anthony?’ Anthony’s heart lifted. ‘I’ve got something coming up that should be amusing, and I rather think I can use him. Remember that stevedore who was killed when a cable snapped? You won’t believe it, but the shipping company is still refusing to accept liability.’
‘They must be mad,’ said Michael, sitting back in his chair.
Leo gave a chuckle. ‘They’re scared shitless. An American court is going to award that man’s family a small fortune, if it comes to it. They’re desperate not to give in. The hearing’s in two weeks’ time, and they’re going to go down like lead. So,’ he continued, turning and slapping his hand lightly on Anthony’s desk, ‘see you in my room tomorrow morning, bright and early, right? That OK with you, Michael?’
Michael nodded. ‘Certainly. It should be very edifying for Anthony, the sight of Leo in the ascendant.’
When he began work with Leo the following day, Anthony discovered that he remembered most of the facts of the case from the time, many months ago, when he had helped Edward with it. He smiled as he found himself reading through his own pleadings.
Working for Leo was quite unlike working for any other member of chambers. Leo threw himself into a case with an enthusiasm that Anthony found wholly captivating. He was erratic and given to working in concentrated bursts of tireless energy, so that Anthony often found himself in chambers until late in the evening. He was glad of that, for it saved him from interminable evenings spent watching his mother watching television, while he tried not to wonder what Julia might be doing, and with whom. At first, he and Leo went their separate ways at the end of hard-working stints such as these, but on one particular evening their conversation regarding the case had become so absorbing that Leo prolonged it by taking Anthony for a drink. They repeated this on other evenings, sometimes going for supper to a wine bar, which Anthony found especially enjoyable. Leo was an expansive, brilliant talker, quite the best company that Anthony had enjoyed for a long time. Leo alleviated his loneliness. He felt suddenly, magnificently, befriended. Gone was Leo’s formerly distant, cool manner. He treated Anthony wholly as an equal, making him feel as though he were making some genuine contribution to the case. Leo kept sounding him out, throwing his ideas at him, watching Anthony keenly as he waited for his response. There were days when Leo seemed chilled by the conviction that the hearing would go against them, days on which he snapped at and was short with Anthony. But the next day would find him buoyed up, possibly by some bungled tactic by the other side, possibly by the surprising credibility of the handful of witnesses that the instructing solicitors had now begun to bring along for a spot of coaching.
It was characteristic of Leo’s temperament that he took each case very personally, investing a good deal of emotional currency in it. His optimism infected Anthony entirely, so that he felt a peculiar elation when the day of the hearing arrived.
As they walked through the cathedral-like hallway of the Law Courts, their footsteps echoing on the chequered marble flags, Anthony felt the first real excitement that he had experienced as a barrister. He had become, with Leo, so seamlessly involved in the case, so familiar with each argument and each unresolved possibility, that the external world seemed to exist merely as a backdrop to this minute drama. The death of a stevedore, two long years ago, had spawned a small legal industry, provided work for so many scurrying lawyers, pouring like maggots from his carcase. They bustled and sifted and collated, they telephoned, talked, argued and demurred, some left the case and others arrived, reading and re-reading, rehearsing and re-rehearsing, waiting and worrying. And here was the sum of it. They were there to force the hand of the dead man’s employers, to set in motion the wheels that would grind out disproportionate hundreds of thousands of dollars into the lap of his family, serving the ends of justice. This was the sharp end of the drama. The rest was history, only to be brought to life by their actions that day.
Robed, he and Leo made their way along the stone corridors until they came to the door of Number Five Court. Outside stood a little knot of people. Anthony recognised one of them, Jonathon, as the younger of their instructing solicitors, and greeted him. The older of the solicitors was conferring in a corner with the solicitor from the other side. Leo and counsel for the shipping company joined them.
‘What’s up?’ Anthony asked Jonathon.
‘Looks like we may not have our day in court, after all,’ replied Jonathon.
‘They’re going to settle?’ Anthony felt his excitement beginning to die away.
‘It looks that way. Mind you, they’ve been on the brink of settling the thing for months. But I think they may have come up with an offer at last.’
Anthony watched Leo talking with counsel and the two solicitors. He noticed, absently, the way that Leo’s hair at the back of his head looked silvery against the dull, brittle horsehair of his wig. Someone went to make a telephone call, and then came back. Leo turned to glance at Anthony and gave him a quick smile. The talking began again and went on for some minutes. Another two men and a woman joined the discussion, and then the two men left. Anthony watched anxiously. Suddenly the little group had broken up, and Leo was walking over to Anthony.
‘That’s that,’ he said. ‘Let’s pack up and go home.’ Everybody was moving away, talking in low voices. Bewildered, Anthony followed Leo back to the robing room, along the echoing corridors, past the doors of enviably busy courts, holding in his hands the useless bundles of documents, all neatly docketed and arranged. It had been for nothing, the past weeks and evenings of concentration, the hours spent immersing one’s whole being in the case – all a waste of time. A handful of people had agreed at the last minute that they didn’t have anything to argue about after all, and would everyone else please return to normal life. The courtroom doors had not even opened.
Leo said something to him as they walked back across the Strand, but Anthony couldn’t hear him above the roar of traffic. In Middle Temple Lane, someone stopped Leo to talk to him, and Anthony felt constrained to go on ahead. He walked back up the wooden stairs of chambers. Michael’s room was empty. He hadn’t really much idea of what Michael had been doing the past week or so, and he had no idea where he might be. Suddenly life had returned to its former rather barren state. Anthony still felt dazed by the anticlimactic culmination of the past two weeks’ effort. He tried to settle down to some work that he had begun a little while ago, but the thing seemed stale and lifeless. He felt suddenly and acutely friendless. His involvement with Leo during the case had become so complete that it was something of a shock to be thrown back into solitude. For a brief period he had felt part of things, and he wished intensely to have that feeling back again. He must, he thought, get this tenancy. Then he would be sure of himself. He would belong. But there was Edward, there was always Edward.
When the phone rang, Anthony was almost inclined to let it go on ringing. It would be for Michael. But at last he answered.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Slee’s voice irascibly, ‘I thought I seen you come in. There’s a young lady to speak to you.’
For a painful few seconds, A
nthony hoped it might be Julia, but he did not recognise the voice that spoke.
‘Hello, Anthony?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘It’s Jocasta.’ It took a moment for the name to register.
‘Oh. Oh, yes! Hello. Where are you calling from?’
‘We’re still in the States.’ Anthony thought her voice now carried a faint Californian lilt. ‘Chay asked me to call and ask you to do something for him. He’s very busy right now, or he’d have called you himself.’ She made whatever Chay was doing sound improbably important.
‘How’s the meditating going?’
‘Well, that’s finished for the moment. We’re really more into the creativity side of things just now. Chay’s got something very big going down here. He’s got an exhibition in one of the galleries.’
‘An exhibition? What of?’ Anthony was finding this a little difficult to take in.
‘His paintings. His work. I can’t tell you, Anthony, he’s been really inspired since we came to this retreat – I mean, he’s been working non-stop, it’s fantastic!’
‘It must be. He can’t paint to save his life. Anyway, he went through that phase about four years ago. What kind of exhibition?’
‘The usual kind. Pictures on walls, that sort of thing. His opening was the most tremendous success, honestly! It’s so exciting just being part of it. The critics all raved about his stuff. Anthony, your father’s a genius.’
‘No, he’s not,’ said Anthony reasonably. ‘But people are remarkably gullible. It amounts to the same thing, I suppose. No, really, I’m very pleased. What kind of pictures is he painting?’
‘Well, I read that someone called them minimalist abstract,’ replied Jocasta doubtfully, but Chay calls it abstract primitive. It’s fairly two-dimensional, anyway,’ she added confidently. ‘Lots of bright colours, that kind of thing. He’s working on a really big canvas at the moment, some New York gallery’s commissioned it.’
‘Commissioned? You mean, he’s actually making money out of this?’
‘A fortune! You wouldn’t believe the prices people in the Valley will pay for things.’
‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Anthony.
‘Anyway, he asked me to ask you if you would go round to the flat and sort through the paintings he left there. His agent says it’s important to get some of his earlier work on the market right now.’
‘Oh, yes, his earlier work. I’m not sure if he was into his “abstract primitive” period then, but I’ll have a rummage through and see what there is. But look, it’s going to cost a fortune to send them over to the States. I can’t possibly afford it.’
‘Don’t worry. Chay’s agent is going to arrange for one of the London galleries to ship them across, if you’ll just deliver them to the gallery. I’ll send you the name and address in a couple of days.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘So, how are you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. Look, tell Dad – Chay – that I’m very pleased for him. It sounds – it sounds like he’s having a good time.’
‘Well, he is. He’ll call you. I have to go now. Bye.’
After he had hung up, Anthony pondered this unlikely turn of events with amusement. He had to hand it to his father – he had nerve. He felt a little better as he resumed his work, although in some way his sense of isolation had been heightened by Jocasta’s bright, excited phone call from far away.
After a while, he went out for a sandwich, chatted to some friends in the common room, and then returned to chambers. Still no Michael. Once again that sense of exclusion began to descend upon him, although he tried to dispel it by concentrating on his work.
It was late in the afternoon when Leo came to Michael’s room. Anthony’s heart rose with pleasure at the sight of him. Suddenly the afternoon seemed fuller and brighter.
‘Well,’ said Leo, smiling and settling himself behind Michael’s desk, ‘that was a bit of an abrupt end to our soaring hopes this morning, wasn’t it?’ He chuckled slightly. ‘Still, it’s always nice to get one’s brief fee before it settles. I had three cases settle last month before I got my fee. Bloody annoying.’
Anthony reflected that at least Leo had the solace of having made some money out of the protracted stand-off. He’d only recently submitted his first note of fees to solicitors, and he didn’t expect to see any payment for some months.
‘It was a bit disappointing, really, I thought. I mean, all that work—’
‘Tchah!’ said Leo dismissively. ‘You may have been disappointed. I was relieved, frankly. Anyway, what’s the difference? The work’s got to be done in either event. It wouldn’t have settled if I hadn’t been instructed. Needed to get the fear up. Now, where’s Michael?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all day.’
‘Pity. I rather wanted a game of squash. I need some unwinding after all that build-up.’ He yawned, running his hands over his hair, and glanced at Anthony. ‘You play?’
Anthony hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘My kit’s in the locker at Middle.’
Leo slapped the desk lightly and rose. ‘Excellent. See you downstairs in ten minutes.’
As Anthony was getting ready to leave, the telephone rang again.
‘Another call for you,’ Mr Slee said, ‘sir. A gentleman this time. Wouldn’t give his name.’
Anthony knew who it was even before he spoke. His heart sank. ‘Hello, Len?’
‘’Allo, Tone?’ In the background, Anthony could hear the clink of glasses and the roar of pub conversation. ‘Sorry to bother you at work, an’ that, but I was wondering whether you’d got me readies yet?’
‘Look, Len, can you give me a couple more weeks?’ He tried to sound casually apologetic, to keep any note of anxiety from his voice.
‘Whassat? Sorry, Tone, there’s a hell of a racket in ’ere.’ Anthony could hear him cupping his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Come on, keep it down, Tel! Sorry mate,’ he said, returning to Anthony, ‘what was that?’
Anthony breathed deeply. ‘I haven’t quite got it all together yet, Len, and I wondered whether—’
‘Well, fifty would do for the moment. I’m a bit desperate, Tone.’
‘Len, I’m afraid I can’t pay you anything right now, to be honest. I’m sorry. Give me another week or two.’ He could hear Len muttering something to someone else at the other end. Then he spoke to Anthony again. He sounded sad.
‘This is very bad news, Tone. I was counting on that dosh.’ He paused. ‘See, it wasn’t strictly my money that I lent you.’
‘Look, I’m just asking for a week or two.’
‘Yeah, well, the thing is, my mate really wants ’is money back in a hurry. Know what I mean?’ He still sounded sad, almost thoughtful.
Anthony sighed. Why had he ever borrowed that hundred? ‘I know, I know. I’ll try to sort something out. Just give me a couple of weeks. I’ll have it. I promise.’ There was another pause; Anthony could hear Phil Collins on the jukebox in the background.
‘Well, I can only give you a week, Tone. My mate’s not best pleased. He’s talkin’ about comin’ round to pay you a visit at work. I said to him you wouldn’t like that.’
‘Oh, come on, Len!’
‘Tone, I’ll do my best, but ’e wants ’is money. I mean, you can understand that. I’ll tell him a week. I’ll give you a ring this time next Friday and we’ll all get together for a drink. Howsat?’ He sounded kindly, conciliatory.
‘All right. One week. But for God’s sake keep him away from here, Len.’
Putting the phone down, Anthony wondered how much of Len’s story he believed. This ‘friend’ might be mythical, a device to worry Anthony. On the other hand, the thought of some mate of Len’s strolling round to Caper Court and mouthing off indignantly about some money that Anthony owed him – it made his blood freeze. His own father had been bad enough, but that would probably finish his prospects for good.
His hands were sweating, he realised. Seven days was not a long time
to get a hundred pounds together. He would think of something.
As he gathered his squash kit together and joined Leo, the pleasure of being in his company again temporarily obliterated thoughts of Len. Getting into Leo’s sleek blue Porsche, purring smoothly off through the evening traffic to Trafalgar Square and down Pall Mall, he felt something like happiness again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Halfway through their seventh game, Anthony felt exhausted. He had begun by playing cautiously, with the natural diffidence of the young. He knew that he was quite good and, aware that Leo was some twenty years his senior, wished at all costs to avoid embarrassment. But Leo was every bit as good as he was, and had the added advantages of weight and a ferocious competitive streak. He played hard and fast, laughing when either of them hit a particularly good shot, swearing under his breath at any shot he fluffed. Anthony, however, was faster round the court, and as the games progressed it became apparent that they were evenly matched, neither able to gain a clear advantage.
‘All right!’ panted Leo at last, leaning against the back wall of the court. ‘I’ve had enough!’ He laughed and wiped his brow. Anthony laughed, too, and moved with relief towards the door.
‘I’m glad you said that. I was about to collapse.’
‘Damn!’ said Leo, slapping him on the back. ‘Maybe we should have carried on. I was probably just getting into my stride.’
They made their way to the changing rooms and the showers. Leo watched as Anthony kicked off his clothes and turned on the shower. Steam filled the air and spray hissed. Leo showered as well, talking above the noise. He let the hot water stream soothingly over his body as he watched Anthony towelling himself dry. His body was slender, yet hard and muscular, his skin still pale and soft like that of a child. Leo watched as Anthony unselfconsciously thrust his slender, sinewy arms into his shirtsleeves, pulled on his underpants and trousers, stuffed his kit into his bag. He was chatting away with the innocent good nature of any young man, unaware that at every move he made Leo felt his throat tighten and the muscles of his stomach contract.
